


It's Gotta Be You

by youaresunlight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Hockey, And They Were Teammates, Art Student Castiel, Boyfriends, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Getting Back Together, Happy Ending, Hockey Player Castiel, Hockey Player Dean, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Tattooed Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 22:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12308904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youaresunlight/pseuds/youaresunlight
Summary: Despite all the warnings against dating a teammate, Dean falls head over heels for Cas. And it’s amazing to have the same schedule, to be together on the ice, to work as a team. It’s amazing until it’s not, and Dean must figure out where he went wrong. Because not doing so means losing Cas for good, and that is something his heart won’t allow.





	It's Gotta Be You

**Author's Note:**

> What better way to celebrate the start of hockey season than combining my two dumpsters! This fic _really_ tried to fight me, but I hope I wrangled it into something that embodies "angst with a happy ending" as well as I'd wanted. Thank you to R for her beta and to hockey for being so Gay.

**Now**

“Hey,” Benny nudges his shoulder, voice subtle as a shotgun. “You okay, man?” 

Dean merely grunts before shaking him off, grateful for the noise that’s drowning them out. 

“I’m fine,” he mutters quickly, not needing to look to know the sad, pitying frown on Benny’s face. For better or for worse, Benny’s known him the longest and tends to fuss when Dean is upset. 

“Yeah, you look it,” Benny shakes his head, tracing Dean’s gaze to the crowded bar. It’s raucous and packed, even for Friday, with midterms finally over for most of the campus. “It’s been months.” His tone is softer. “You can’t be mad that he’s getting back out there.” And, of course, he’s right – he usually is – but Dean is also hurting, and stubborn as a mule. 

He stares ahead where Cas is standing, leaning with his elbow propped on the bar and talking to a guy in a baseball cap. Whatever he says next draws a smile from Cas, and it’s familiar and crooked and devastating. But it’s when Cas tilts his head that Dean flushes hot, his chest feeling tight with horrific longing, because he knows what it’s like to see that up close, to have Cas look at him through his thick, inky lashes. 

He knows the effect Cas has on people, and even now the guy leans in, putting a hand on Cas’ arm. Dean can’t decide if it’s worse that Castiel lets him, or that he’s still smiling, unfairly pretty, but nothing compares to the gut punch of watching the two of them leave and head to the door. 

“I’m calling it a night,” he says to Benny, once he’s taken a long, final drink of his beer and put down a ten to cover his share. It’s only him and Benny and Victor left in the booth, the rest of their teammates lost in the crowd, and he sort of hates the silent exchange that passes between his friends in the span of a second. “Look, I know what you’re gonna say,” Dean runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “He’s free to do whatever he wants. _Whoever_ he wants. We aren’t dating anymore.” The reminder cuts coming out of his mouth and Dean feels his breath stick deep inside his throat. 

Benny pats him on the back and, from across the table, Victor slides over the rest of his beer. “If you want him back, you gotta do something, man. You can’t just avoid each other forever.” His look is a mix of worry and disapproval. “You were good together, Dean. Fix this shit.”

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

**Then**

Dean had known for quite some time that dating within the team was a terrible idea, that there were compelling, precedent-based reasons why you shouldn’t covet thy teammate’s ass. He’d seen pining crushes that ultimately led nowhere and heated spats in the locker room, and being teammates first and foremost meant no escape from the source of your problems. 

So, when Castiel Novak made it onto their team in the fall of his sophomore year, Dean tried his best to stop feeling like an anvil was dropped on his head. He’d obviously been attracted to people before, just fleeting observations every now and again, but suddenly with Cas he was left a bit speechless by the huge, gorgeous eyes that contained the sky. 

To be fair, the entire team was a little bit thrown by Cas at first, because sophomore recruits were rare to begin with, especially ones as good a player as Cas. They all swarmed him with attention for a while, the mysterious art major with wing tattoos, probably acting like idiots and sheltered jocks until their embarrassed captain told them to calm down. 

Cas was friendly and sweet and smart and cheeky and, although on the leaner side for hockey, had the deceptive strength to make up for it. He got a lot of trash talk from rival team players, who liked to check him against the boards and call him “pretty boy” while they did it, and the more they realized he was built like a truck, the more they tried to make him a target.

Bruises were part and parcel of contact sports and Cas held his own most of the time, but every once in a while he’d come off the ice and wince his way through showers and changing. So, if Dean kept an eye out for him during games, and derailed a few assholes from getting to Cas, it was a part of his job as a dependable teammate and nothing to do with the soft smiles Cas would give him on the ice. 

It became easier to justify his protective urges when he was voted Captain their junior year, to chalk up every touch to team-building and ignore the staccato beat of his heart when Cas was near. He was probably disgustingly obvious, judging by Benny and Victor’s pained expressions, but he’d forget to feel bad the minute Cas skated right into his arms after a goal. 

To be frank, it was a matter of time before the entire thing came to a head, and it happened in the final minutes of a brutal away game at Princeton. 

They were tied, two to two, and Cas didn’t see the stick slamming into his helmet or the body shoving him into the boards. “Where’s your boyfriend, pretty boy?” number nineteen leered, taking advantage of Cas’ shock to keep him pinned with his suffocating weight. The guy was a mammoth with several inches on Cas, and Cas could only blink as the orange and white of his home-ground uniform blurred together. 

Somehow, the next time Cas tried to push back, nineteen was gone and Benny was there, holding Cas by both arms to steady him. “Cas!” he shouted through his shield, the roar of the arena rising around them. Cas searched in alarm to pinpoint the cause, his eyes landing on a fight beyond Benny’s shoulder. 

Dean was grabbing nineteen by the front of his jersey, having pulled off his helmet and tossed it aside to throw a punch into his jaw. The refs were on them immediately, dragging a furious Dean and the player apart before Dean could strike a second time. 

“Why would you do that!” Cas demanded back in the locker room after the game, once their teammates had filed out to hit a convenience store for snacks. “We might have had a chance to break the tie if you hadn’t gone and played the hero, Dean!” His hair was a mess and his blue eyes blazed, face heated red from exertion and anger. But Dean felt his own rage bubble out to match it, and found himself replying just as loud and indignant. 

“He fucking hurt you!” Dean gritted out. “You expect me to just _watch_ while you get a dirty hit, Cas? Just go on with the game like nothing’s wrong?” 

Cas bit his lip and squared his shoulders, defiance clear in the line of his body. “I don’t need a bodyguard.” His glare was like fire. “Dean, you can’t take a penalty every time someone fucks with me during a game. It’s not sustainable, alright? It’s stupid.”

Whatever he’d expected to happen next, it wasn’t Dean taking another step forward, putting him in Cas’ space just inches away, close enough for Cas to feel the heat radiate from Dean and smell the sweat and metal and ice. He felt almost vulnerable without his equipment like there was nowhere for him to hide, like he was laid out for Dean to see with all his flaws and insecurities. 

“I can’t fucking stand it when they come after you,” Dean practically growled, low and rough. 

Cas’ mouth parted, pink and chapped, and Dean wanted nothing more than to lean down and kiss it. “That’s because…” Cas trailed off, voice quieter now. “That’s because you’re our captain.” 

“Sure,” Dean shrugged one shoulder. “You’re right, no one messes with my team.” And maybe any other day, he would’ve ended there, tamping down on the want and something _more_ that he’d been carrying for over a year. But tonight, he put his hands on either side of Cas’ hips, his fingers pressing into the slight give of the muscles there, heat seeping through Cas’ shirt, still damp with sweat. 

“Dean?” Cas blinked at him, so painfully beautiful that it physically hurt. 

But Dean could dwell on that later. The important thing now was to get this out. 

“I hate it when you get hurt, and I’d hate it for anyone on our team, but with you it’s…” Dean sighed helplessly. “It’s different because… of how I feel about you.” 

He heard the sharp intake of Cas’ breath and felt like crawling out of his skin with how nervous he was in the ensuing quiet. For a delirious moment, Cas turning him down seemed like it could be better than indecipherable silence, except the thought of Cas not wanting him back was so awful that Dean dismissed it altogether.  

“Since when?” Cas asked eventually, the slight tremble in his body the only thing betraying his neutral expression. 

“Since day one,” Dean said carefully, watching in awe as Cas’ eyes widened. Was it really a surprise that he’d fallen for Cas? Dean had always considered it inevitable. 

“You never said anything,” Cas ducked his head. He looked delightful, gone pink around the edges. “I wondered sometimes, the stuff you did, but I just figured… Maybe I hoped…” 

Dean felt a warmth bloom deep inside his chest and spread like wildfire down to his toes. He had to stop himself from laughing like a crazy person, so insanely happy and terribly relieved and this was what people meant by cloud fucking nine.

Bolstered by the newfound lightness in his heart, Dean lifted both of his hands to cup Cas’ cheeks, cradling his face and staring and staring, still in disbelief that he could _do_ this. 

“I’m going to kiss you,” Dean murmured softly. 

Castiel nodded, shy and pleased. “Okay.” 

Cas tilted his face up as Dean bent down and the kiss was a gentle brush of their lips. Dean let a hand drop to Cas’ hip, and it was better than anything he’d felt in his life. 

Cas tasted sweet, a little like Gatorade, and he sighed when Dean slid his tongue against the rosy seam of his lips. He let Dean lead and deepen their kiss, fisting his hands in the front of Dean’s shirt and making contented sounds in his throat. 

They were both breathless when they pulled apart, both of them giddy and somewhat dazed and already impatient to kiss again. Dean brushed his thumb across the swell of Cas’ lips and relished the way Cas shivered at his touch. 

“You know what that guy said when he checked me?” Cas asked. 

Dean frowned in reply but Castiel laughed, surging up to press a placating kiss to his mouth. “He asked where my boyfriend was,” he smiled ruefully, then shook his head. “Dean, I meant it when I said you can’t take penalties. Don’t make yourself a target-” 

Dean kissed him again. 

“He’s right here,” he grinned at Cas. “Your boyfriend. He’s right here.”

Cas’ blush was instant but he tried to fight it, rolling his eyes and giving Dean a shove. “What, you’re going to just _kiss_ your way out of trouble then?”

Dean pulled him close. “Don’t mind if I do.”

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

 **Now**  

It occurs to Dean that the dating guidelines exist mainly for what comes after the relationship, because same schedules are great when you’re together and mostly terrible when you aren’t. 

Four months after breaking up, playing hockey has become a dance. They leave everything aside when they’re on the ice, then retreat into their corners when the skates are off. On the bus to away games, Cas sits up front, while Dean takes the back with his noise-cancelling earbuds. He misses the weight of Cas’ body on his, so he closes his eyes and tries to forget. 

Every fucking thing reminds him of Cas, even listening to Zeppelin to get revved up, which has been Dean’s ritual for seven years. It’s no one’s fault but his for making Cas a playlist and now he only has moping to show for it. 

It’s tough, returning to Princeton and being in the locker room where they first kissed. Hardly anything has changed and Dean sort of wonders if Cas is affected by it too. It’s boisterous and rowdy when they’re all changing and Dean takes the chance to glance at Cas. He’s aware he has no right to look anymore, but is once again betrayed by his own desire. 

People always assume he’ll go for smaller guys, someone he can easily tuck into his arms and who’ll swim in the jerseys they borrow from him. He gets the appeal and sees the trend in the tiny things some teammates date, but the second he set his eyes on Cas, all of that was swiftly obliterated.

Sure, he liked being a couple inches taller, mostly so he could tease and watch Cas huff and hold his face as he leaned down to kiss him. He liked that Cas was leaner but just as strong, could be bossy and pushy if he wanted to be. Dean could take him apart because Castiel let him, and nothing compared to the thrill of that permission. 

He approaches Cas now, holding the stick tape, knowing he could pass it along via someone else but that feels too impersonal. Juvenile. They’re tiptoeing around each other but it’s also true that he _misses_ Cas. Cas was his friend, maybe his best friend, and Dean lost that too when he lost Cas. 

“Hey, um, Cas,” he stands by Cas’ stall, ignoring the hush that descends around them. In an instant, their teammates make themselves scarce, suddenly finding the opposite end of the room more fascinating. 

“Dean,” Cas turns to him, his chest a little flushed from their pre-game warm-up down to the ink just below his ribcage. Dangerous heat pools low in Dean’s belly at the sight of Cas’ sharp, pretty collarbones. “Is something wrong?” Cas looks a bit wary. 

“No,” Dean shakes his head quickly, putting out his hand with the roll of green tape. “I heard you’re running low,” he sort of mumbles and wishes for lightning to strike him now . 

Cas, however, offers a smile, a quirk of his mouth that Dean could never get enough of. “I am. Thank you, Dean,” he takes the tape and cradles it in his palm. “Good luck today,” he adds a bit shyly. “You’ll be great. You always are.” 

“You too,” Dean tries to smile and hopes he doesn’t look as forlorn as he feels. 

His nerves when they get on the ice have more to do with Cas than with the game. Cas is still a popular target among their rivals who make it a point to gang up on him. Dean is his captain no matter what and even tonight he circles the ice, watching each of the Tigers like a hawk. 

There’s superfluous checking throughout the game and if he retaliates more forcefully than usual, then that’s his prerogative as a player. He nearly takes twenty-two’s head off when he can-opens Cas in third period, just slides right past the guy to smack him down with his stick. 

Despite the two minutes Dean spends in the penalty box, they wipe the floor with them, five to nothing. The team is shouting and laughing and hugging, the victory won on rival turf and sweeter for it. Cas grins when Victor claps him on the back for his filthy goal and assists, but is otherwise quiet while they shower and change and pile onto the bus to their hotel.

Most of the team crowds into Jake and Benny’s room for pizza, still high on the win and being away from school, and Dean should really be there to congratulate them, especially the freshmen who have finally solidified their footing. The roster will change again in a few months once the seniors, including Dean, graduate, and he wants to make sure the team is strong and settled and ready to transition smoothly into fall. 

He pulls on a soft t-shirt he digs out from his duffel then the sweatpants he intends to sleep in, and is about to leave to walk down the hall when someone knocks on his door. He thinks it’s probably Victor coming to fetch him, mumbles “I’m going, I’m going” as he opens it, and the last person he expects is Cas, standing there in a team tee and track pants and looking effortlessly gorgeous. 

“Uh, hey, Cas,” he greets, before sheepishly rubbing his neck. “Are you… I’m about to, um.” Jesus, when the hell did it get this hard to talk to Cas? 

“Sorry,” Cas chews on his lip. “I know everyone’s down the hall, it’s just… Can we talk?” He fidgets like he’s nervous, looking up at Dean through his lashes, and the second he does that Dean forgets about everything else and steps aside to let him in. 

“What’s up?” he tries for casual, hovering near the T.V. while Cas does the same between the two beds. It feels like there’s a gigantic chasm separating them from each other when in fact it’s just a few feet in a small hotel room.

Cas studies him for a moment, then simply says, “You took a penalty again.” 

Dean goes for a nonchalant shrug and winds up looking vaguely exposed. He tries hiding it anyway with a cool, “Yeah, the guy was a dick.” 

Cas sees right through his bullshit. “You didn’t have to get him back. I was fine,” he says. 

“Sure, tell that to the bruise on your arm,” Dean grunts, because he really hates the blotchy red on Cas’ skin, an ugly thing that spreads from beneath the dark outlines of his feathers. 

“Dean-” Cas starts, tone calm and placating, and Dean just- He’s just had fucking enough of this.

“What do you want me to say?” he blurts out harshly, angry that Cas is clearly trying to push him away. Angry that Cas isn’t _his_. Not anymore. “Do you want me to say I don’t care about you now? That I can watch some ass try to hurt you and be okay with it? Well, Cas, I don’t know about you but I can’t just _shut it off_ that easy. I was crazy about you the second we met and that shit doesn’t just fade overnight ‘cause we broke up. And in case you forgot, we’re still teammates and it’s my job as captain to have your back. So, if you’re gonna give me shit for doing that I…” Dean sighs, suddenly tired. He shakes his head and feels his throat closing up. “Look, I’m… I’m just trying not to miss you so much, okay?” 

Cas’ eyes are wide and dark. “Dean,” he says, and it sounds breathy and wet like unshed tears. He lessens the gap between them, closer and closer till he’s got his chin tilted up and Dean can smell the locker room soap on him too. It’s plain but familiar, like home, and Dean is reminded yet again how hopelessly gone he is. 

He and Cas haven’t stood this close in months, and Dean ought to take this chance and say something romantic, profound, something that’ll sweep Cas off of his feet. But instead, when he opens his mouth, what comes out is, “He didn’t get your hand, did he?” 

Castiel frowns a little, and damn Dean to hell, it’s painfully cute. “My hand?” Cas even looks down, moving his fingers like he’s testing them. 

“Yeah, I just…” Dean shifts on his feet. “You’re an artist. You can’t hurt your hand.” 

“Oh,” Castiel says softly, making a face Dean can’t quite read. 

Maybe he overstepped. “Anyway, um…” Dean gestures at the door. “We should probably go see if-” 

“I miss you too.”

Dean’s sure he must have misheard. “You do?” His heart is pounding. 

“Of course I do,” Cas stares at the floor. “I’m trying not to, but no matter what I do- Something always reminds me of you.” 

Dean knows exactly how that feels. 

He reaches up to cup Cas’ face, a gentle attempt to lock their eyes. And when Cas obliges with his solemn blue gaze, Dean sees a glimmer of hope there too. “I think about you all the time.” 

Cas’ smile is tentative, but a smile nonetheless. “I was listening to Zeppelin before the game.” 

Dean feels his heart leap. “Yeah?” he says. 

“‘Dean’s Top 13 Zepp Traxx,’” Cas says fondly. “Tracks with two x’s. Who taught you to spell?” 

“It’s for the aesthetic,” Dean protests. 

“What does that even mean?” 

“I dunno, ask Sam.” 

Cas wrinkles his nose and it’s horribly appealing and Dean taps him on the cheek without even thinking. It’s the kind of touch that used to be casual, except now it makes Castiel blush while Dean coughs and lowers his hand. He makes a fist to restrain himself, because Cas is here and so, so close and the air seems to spark with mutual tension. He thinks that maybe – from the way Cas is watching him – that maybe Cas will let him kiss- 

“Winchester!” calls a voice outside the door, startling them both into jumping apart. “Dean, you in there?” It sounds like Victor, while the freshmen are yelling, “Oh captain, my captain!” 

“You better go,” Cas murmurs softly, only to sigh when a muffled voice in the hallway asks, “Hey, where’s Novak? You guys see him? Novak!” 

“I’ll herd them into Benny’s room,” Dean manages a smile. “Clear the coast for you.” It’s not like the guys ever cared they were dating, but neither he nor Cas is in the mood to deal with chirping right now. Dean squeezes Cas’ shoulder because it feels much safer than pulling Cas into a hug or anything more. The tension’s still there and hot and waiting, but Dean despairs that the timing is shit. 

“Go,” Cas quirks his lips, the curve of it sweet and a little sad. “I’ll follow in just a minute.”

So, Dean leaves, and hates every second.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

They don’t touch again till they’re back on campus and win against Brown a few days later. Victor leads everyone back to his frat, and for a while it’s just pong and dirt cheap beer. Dean sits on the ledge that lines the basement, occasionally checking in on who’s holding table but effectively distracted by Cas’ presence. He’s wearing a logo-less, black baseball cap and a shirt that fits _too_ well, plus a pair of jeans that hugs his thighs and makes his legs look even longer. As a whole, it’s pretty devastating, and Dean is grateful they aren’t in public, where plenty of others could also stare and he’d have to find ways to scare them off. 

At some point, Cas turns around and their eyes meet across the room. Dean is talking to a sophomore on their team named Dave and when he looks up midway through his sentence, all he sees is blue despite the low light. This happened a lot when they were dating, during practice and in locker rooms, and Dean would always hold their gaze and wink, prompting Cas to blush and smile even harder. He can’t really do that now, but he tips his head with a soft, private smile. In return, Cas gives a small wave, and Dean’s reaction is dopier than he’d ever admit. 

“You guys back together?” Dave asks cautiously, glancing back and forth between the two of them and looking weirdly hopeful like they’re his parents or something. 

“What?” Dean says absently, because Cas is now laughing at whatever Jake said. It’s a sin, how attractive he is, and it’s nearly impossible to tear his eyes away. 

“I asked if you’re back together with Cas,” Dave supplies graciously, sounding amused. 

“Oh, uh, no,” Dean clears his throat. “It’s not for babies to know.” 

“Hey, I’m not a baby!” Dave exclaims, not exactly helping his point. 

He squawks when Dean ruffles his hair and says, “I’ll tell you when you’re older, kid.” 

Dean isn’t sure how he finds himself walking back to Cas’ dorm at 2 am. One second they were still with the team, and the next thing he knows, they’ve fallen into step. Perhaps it’s his muscle memory, from all those nights that began with a game and ended in his or Cas’ bed. If Cas’ sidelong glances are any indication, he seems to be recalling the same nights as Dean. 

Cas takes off his cap as they walk to his room, thankfully a single at the end of the hall. He fixes the hat head with a hand through his hair, and is left with his usual messy tufts instead. 

There’s a brief period of awkwardness when Cas shuts the door behind them and they’re both silent, staring at each other. Dean’s been here hundreds of times, finishing his readings with his head in Cas’ lap, letting Cas doodle in the margins of his notes, chirping Cas for his Bruins poster – though Cas just called it hometown loyalty. Dorm beds weren’t built for two hockey players but they’d made it work anyway, and laughing against Cas’ neck whenever they made the bed creak obnoxiously loud is a memory that makes his heart trip even now. And Cas- 

Cas looks perfect, from his chapped lips to his brilliant eyes, and Dean shamelessly drinks in the sight of him, knowing he may not get another chance. He has no idea what Cas might say, and there’s a flashback to a rainy night and Cas telling him “I can’t do this,” so he’s braced for the absolute worst and equally shocked when the fight leaves Cas’ shoulders and his eyes go soft and he whispers “Dean” like it’s everything he wants. 

It just takes one stride for Dean to sweep Cas up and pull him in tight. The lump in his throat makes his voice shaky and rough, but he keeps saying Cas’ name anyway and cups the back of Cas’ head to hold him close. “I missed you so much,” he breathes, buries his face in Cas’ hair and feels Cas relax against him. They’ve always fit like two pieces of a puzzle, and Dean can’t find enough words to express his relief at having Cas in his arms again. 

He would’ve gladly stood there for hours with Cas clutching his shirt – until sunrise if that’s what Cas wanted. But when Cas pulls back with slightly damp lashes and goes up on his toes to touch his lips against Dean’s, Dean shuts his eyes and feels overcome with each lingering kiss Cas presses to his mouth. He curls a hand on either side of Cas’ hips, firm and protective, maybe a little claiming. Cas is not small guy but Dean’s hand are big, and Dean is well aware how much Cas loves it. 

He slips under the hem of Cas’ shirt, feeling the goosebumps rise beneath his own skin as he listens for the hitch in Castiel’s throat. Cas is hot all over and fucking gorgeous and Dean knows his body, what riles him up. He bites back a groan when he finally hears it, wanting so badly to take Cas to bed. 

“Dean, I…” Cas tucks himself closer, his broken voice intoxicating. He pushes his face into the crook of Dean’s neck, sighing, “I want- I missed you too.” 

He doesn’t have to imagine what Cas would look like, naked and sated and sprawled on the sheets. Dean’s seen it before, been the one to make it happen, and the thought of having it all again makes his heart pound as they stumble toward the bed. He pushes Cas onto it and crawls on top, keeps himself propped on his hands and knees to cage Cas in, possessive and looming. “Are you sure?” he murmurs roughly, lifting one hand to touch Cas’ cheek. There’s absolutely no question that he wants Cas, but he needs to make sure this isn’t a one-off, that what Cas missed is more than just the sex. 

Cas blinks at him, flushed and pretty, with his fingers curled in the front of Dean’s shirt and a gaze so intense that Dean feels his blood burn. “I want you,” Castiel says and it’s like a punch that leaves him breathless. 

Still, Dean tries to hold back, to make this last and make it _good_. Cas must mistake this for a lack of interest, biting his lip all red and unsure, and the way he gasps when Dean leans down to kiss him is enough to snap Dean’s short-lived resistance. 

It’s hard to lose their clothes and kiss at the same time, but once they manage and find a rhythm, it’s hot and slow and familiar. Dean trails his mouth over Cas’ ink, pleased by each sound he draws from Cas. He loves watching Cas clutch desperately at the sheets, the shift of his muscles making it look like wings are fluttering along his arms. 

He’s completely preoccupied with marking his path down Cas’ body when he hears the slam of a wooden drawer and Cas is pushing a bottle into his slack hand. He’s coordinated enough to multitask, slicking up his fingers while simultaneously sucking a bruise on the cut of Cas’ hip, but he pauses to groan at the tight, obscene heat as he eases in a finger, his eyes on Cas. 

“Dean,” Cas arches his back, trying to get him deeper, squirming and needy. Dean remembers the first time he did this to Cas, moving achingly slow and watching Cas’ face the entire time. 

He waits for Cas to sigh and melt against the sheets before adding another, just as careful. It doesn’t take long for Cas to meet his thrusts, whining a little with his skin all pink. “That’s it,” Dean tells him softly. “So good for me, Cas. You want more, baby?” He curls his fingers, close to what Cas needs but not quite, and the frustrated noise he gets in response spurs Dean on to continue his teasing. 

“Please,” Castiel breathes out. “Dean, _more_ , I- I need more.” 

“I know,” Dean kisses his thigh, reaching for the lube and popping it open. His hand is already wet and coated with it, but the extra makes it easier when he pulls out his fingers and pushes back in, tight with a third. “You take it so well, always did,” he says, relishing the way it makes Castiel blush like they haven’t done things dirtier than this. He crooks his fingers, properly this time, his eyes going dark and heady and hungry. “Right there?” he asks though he knows, even as Cas moans and chokes out a cry. 

“ _Yeah_ ,” Cas answers him anyway, trembling as Dean touches him again and again. But it’s hard and fast, totally relentless, and soon he starts to whimper, “ _Dean_ , it’s too-”

But Dean knows better than to stop right now, because Cas is crying out sharply with every thrust and must be feeling raw like a livewire. So, he holds Cas still, right where he wants him, and just _gives_ it to him without reprieve. “Gonna come like this, aren’t you,” he rumbles out, feverish at the sight of Cas falling apart. 

When Cas comes, shaking and sighing, Dean surges forward to kiss him through it, thrilled by every moan he pulls out of Cas. He feels Cas’ come splatter hot between them and it’s messy and _fuck_ , he can’t get enough. He keeps moving his fingers while Cas recovers, and concedes only when Cas shoves weakly at his chest and his breath keeps sticking like he might cry. 

“Good?” he kisses Cas’ jaw, a languid press his lips to heated skin. 

“Mm,” Cas opens his eyes, his heart clearly racing. “It was amazing.” 

Dean smiles, smug and pleased by the blissed-out expression on Cas’ face, and he’s nearly forgotten how hard he is until Cas reaches down to curl a hand around him. The touch is too much and he’s slick and sensitive and it makes him gasp against Cas’ cheek. His hips twitch helplessly toward Cas’ body and he’s just not going to last much longer. 

“Dean, wait,” Cas says into his ear, voice low and thick with hazy pleasure. Despite the groan bubbling out of his throat, Dean dutifully stops and lifts up his head. Cas’ eyes look wild with hardly any blue and his lips are swollen, shockingly red. “You should…” he says breathlessly, before trailing off to wrap his legs around Dean’s waist. 

Dean is far too turned on to process it quickly, but, “Cas, you… We don’t have to.” 

“I want to,” Castiel says, almost determined. “I want you to.” He uses his legs to pull Dean closer until his cock is nudging where it’s warm and wet. Dean used so much lube that they just slide against each other and Dean grips at the sheets as he swears up a storm. 

“Should we-” he bites back a moan. Jesus Christ, Cas feels so fucking good. “Do we need…” he can’t find the words, but Cas must understand. He lets out a breath. 

“I haven’t,” he says quietly, placing his hand over Dean’s on the bed. “I know what it looked like sometimes, but I… I couldn’t do it. It never felt right.” He seems surprised by the look on Dean’s face, what could only be described as sheer relief. “Were you… jealous?” he asks as if it’s the craziest thought in the world, as if Dean hadn’t felt like burning the bar to the ground every time another guy tried to take Cas home. 

“Of course, I was jealous. I was going _insane_ ,” Dean growls at the memory, shaking his head. “I couldn’t help- I had no right, but… Cas, you used to be _mine_ and I just-” 

Cas’ smile is soft and beautiful when he says, “I am. You have me, Dean.” The admission falls quietly, heavily, between them, and Dean thinks the rush of emotions that cross Cas’ face must be reflected on his own. 

When he pushes into Cas again, into his perfect, welcoming heat with Cas’ nails digging half-moons down his back, Dean presses his face against Cas’ collarbone and fights the urge not to thrust right away. He waits until Cas clings to him, shivering and panting, so sensitive, and it’s once he hears “I’m okay, Dean. Please, please” that he starts fucking him with long, slow rolls of his hips. 

Cas jerks and trembles each time Dean moves, their bodies flush and rocking together, trying hard to keep a steady pace. He feels incredible, slick and soft, moaning Dean’s name through shocked little noises. It’s difficult not to be smug, seeing Cas spread out and filled with his cock, to not have his chest swell up with longing at having lost him once before. 

He stops holding back when Cas turns desperate, when the angle is deadly where they’ve hit a sweet spot and all that’s left to do is chase it to the end. “Baby,” he says as he thrusts, “Let me feel it, come on, you’re perfect.” He works his hands under Cas’ ass and drives in as deep as Cas will let him. 

It takes just a moment for Cas to seize up, crying out loudly and starting to come, and Dean’s mind goes static at him clamping down as he continues to groan and fuck Cas through it. He watches the tremors run through Cas’ body and his legs splay open, Dean’s for the taking. “I- _Dean_ , please,” Cas begs, and that’s the last straw for Dean to let himself come.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

Cas falling asleep with his cheek on Dean’s shoulder is an easy habit for them to return to, but Dean still wants to pinch himself when they wake up, just to check he isn’t stuck in a dream. He lies there blinking against the sunlight, pressing soft, sweet kisses into Cas’ hair, his smile reflexive as Castiel stirs, sleep-warm and grumpy. “Mm, what times’it?” 

“Like almost noon,” Dean says happily, running his palm down Castiel’s side. He lets it settle at the top of his hip and thumbs the curve with obvious affection. 

It’s another few minutes before Cas rolls over, away from Dean and onto his back. His eyes open slowly and he looks so crabby that Dean has to laugh and say, “Morning, sunshine.” 

“Ugh, you’re the worst,” Cas gripes huffily, but doesn’t resist when Dean leans in to kiss him. In fact, he’s perfectly pliant till the kiss turns steamy, at which point he sighs, “God, I have so much work.” His expression is sad and regretful enough that Dean just kisses him on the nose. “It’s at the studio. You could come if you want?” He’s biting his lip again. Vulnerable. 

Now, it’s Dean’s turn to look disappointed. “I told Ben and Nate I’d run drills with them.” He touches Cas’ cheek. “But dinner maybe?” 

“Dinner sounds good,” Cas hums sleepily. His smile is enough to overshadow the sun. 

“What do you need to work on?” Dean asks later, once they finally manage to get out of bed. His shirt is on Cas’ chair and his briefs on the floor, tangled with his jeans, and he chuckles to himself as he slips them on. Where are his shoes. “Is it a project?” 

Cas’ expression is unreadable when Dean looks up. “Oh, just- For the senior show. The gallery thing.” He’s trying for nonchalant, which bemuses Dean. A senior show is clearly a big deal. 

“When, um, when is it?” he asks cautiously, wracking his brain to check if Cas told him and he forgot like an idiot. He watches Cas sit and stare at his hands as they pick at a loose thread on his well-worn sweats. 

“May 18th,” Castiel replies. “It’s the same night as the team formal.” 

“Oh,” Dean frowns in confusion. “I didn’t know, Cas. You never said.” 

“I know,” Cas slumps his shoulders. “I didn’t think you’d- It doesn’t matter.” He’s averting his eyes and there’s a flash of annoyance at what he was probably trying to say, prompting Dean to go to him and demand some answers because did Cas really think he’d be such an ass? 

“You thought I wouldn’t go?” he says, and it _hurts_. “You just assumed and decided not to tell me?” 

Cas still won’t look at him. “Dean,” he starts. “It’s our last one before we graduate. It wouldn’t have been fair for you to miss out because of me.” 

“For your senior show, Cas!” Dean argues back. “And what’s the point of formal if you aren’t there, huh? We either go, or don’t go, _together_ , but sorry, I didn’t realize you think I’m a dick.” 

“Don’t do that,” Cas warns lowly. “You would’ve had to pick eventually, Dean. I just wanted to save you the trouble.” 

“What are you talking about?” Dean recoils. His head is spinning. What is Cas saying? 

“Dean, you’re an amazing player. You’re going to get drafted, everyone knows that. And it’ll be _incredible_ to watch you play. That’s been your dream since you were a kid. But I’m- We’re not headed in the same direction and I didn’t want you to choose between me and hockey. I thought it’d hurt less to stay a step ahead, instead of… instead of being left behind.”

Dean feels completely breathless. “ _Cas_ , that isn’t- You really think that?” 

“I know your instinct will be to deny it, but think on it, Dean. You’ll see I’m right.” Cas stands up, close enough to touch, and traces his hands over Dean’s wrinkled shirt. “I was supposed to be stronger but yesterday, I…” His eyes are wide under thick, damp lashes. 

“This is why we broke up?” Dean asks in disbelief, throat closing up when Castiel nods. “You left me first because you think I would… Do you even know what you mean to me?” 

Cas’ lips part like he’s stunned by the question, like he can never quite believe it when Dean tries to tell him how important he is, how much Dean _loves_ him. “We’re only in college,” is what he says. “You’re going to meet someone better, Dean. Far better.” 

“That is such a load of _bullshit_. Do you hear yourself?” Dean cradles Cas’ face between his hands, ready to drown in the bottomless blue. “How can you say that after everything we- I don’t think you believe that. Alright? You _can’t_.” 

Cas searches his face with the kind of intensity Dean equates with lightning, a galaxy of stars. Gorgeous and strong – unforgettable – and now he’s far away, fading once more. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he says quietly. “I hope…” 

 _Don’t say it_ , Dean pleads. _Please don’t say you hope I’ll be happy_. 

“I hope life is good to you, Dean,” Cas says.

Dean closes his eyes, and feels his heart shatter.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

**Then**

There had been no particular reason to keep their relationship from the team. They were both out and the guys didn’t care and everyone lived in each other’s pockets. Dean had to admit it was kind of nice to have something special that was all their own – until Cas threw a soft little smile his way and Dean’s brain immediately short-circuited. 

Point being, it was a matter of time. 

The team was trickling onto the ice, doing leisurely laps to warm up for practice. Dean found Cas and bumped their gloves together, grinning through his shield. “You come here often?” 

Cas slowed, almost to a stop, his expression akin to incredulous. But Dean kept smiling and staring and _smiling_ and eventually Cas blushed and burst out laughing. 

“You’re lucky we’re already dating.” He shook his head. “That was terrible.” 

“Was it though?” Dean knocked their elbows, skating backwards and gesturing Cas to follow. “It made you blush, didn’t it?” he grinned, delighted by the pink so high on Cas’ cheeks. 

“That’s just embarrassment,” Castiel sighed, and emphasized the point by whacking Dean’s leg. It hardly felt like anything over the padding and Dean grabbed the stick before Cas could pull it back. “If you were a puck, I’d never pass you,” he said, tugging Cas close and looking wolfish. He ignored the eye roll he got in response since he could see Cas valiantly fighting a smile. “You know, there’s more where that came from.” 

“Please, no, have mercy,” Castiel groaned. He shoved a hand in Dean’s face for laughing at him, glove thudding comically against the helmet. Dean laughed even harder and glacially slid forward till their shields touched with gentle affection.  

“Holy _shit_ ,” came a voice to their left, startling them into moving apart. It was Benny with an audience of teammates behind him, all slack-jawed and- Yeah, one was definitely blushing. “Were you bumping heads like a couple of cats?” 

“They’re bumping _something_ ,” Jake croaked miserably.

“Are you like, together? Finally?” 

“Uh,” Dean said. “Yeah, ‘bout a week now.” 

“Boys,” Victor turned to the freshmen. “Congratulations, you now have two dads.” Everyone clapped while whistling obnoxiously and yelling every possible variation of “ _Get_ it, Cap!”

Dean knew they were lucky, to have teammates like that, who didn’t give them cause to hide and pretend. Who chirped to no end when they caught them flirting but were ready to fight every bigoted comment. Dean made sure to give back and be a good captain, though the role weighed heavy on his shoulders sometimes. But when he had doubts, or took a loss hard, Cas was there to pull him back on his feet. They were a team, on and off the ice, and Dean thought everything was going well.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

 **Now**  

“Wow,” Benny takes one look at him and clicks his tongue. “You look like shit.” 

“Thanks,” Dean sinks against the couch, ignoring his muscles screaming at him. 

“So, what happened?” Benny asks, poking in his fridge for two cold beers. “You were making googly eyes at each other and now it’s over again? For good?” 

“Looks like it,” Dean mutters darkly, accepting the bottle Benny offers him. Worse than any aches he gets from hockey is the one in his chest, sharp and throbbing. “He thinks I would’ve left him once we graduated, so he took off first,” he scoffs into his drink. 

“Well, were you?” Benny asks. 

“Was I what?” 

“Going to leave him.” 

“What- _No_!” Unbelievable. Dean sits up straight. “You think I’d do that?” 

Benny takes his time in answering Dean, and after a contemplative pull of his beer, says, “No, man, I don’t think you would.” 

“Yeah, exactly,” Dean deflates, scowling at the floor. “He’s it for me.” 

“Well, did you tell him that? Those exact words? Did you say, ‘Hey, Cas, I fucking love you and I only want _your_ ass for the rest of my life?’” Benny merely shrugs when Dean glares at him. “I don’t think you did, right? There’s your problem.” 

“I don’t need to lay it out!” Dean throws up his hands. “C’mon, you’ve seen me around him. It’s obvious.” 

“Sure, just like it was obvious why Cas decided to break up with you. He didn’t need to lay it out for you to know.” Benny shakes his head when Dean falls silent. “Look, Dean, you’re my friend, alright? You’re also an idiot, but I care about you. And, fuck me, I actually _want_ you to fix this with Cas. The whole team does.” He takes another long swig of beer from his bottle, letting the alcohol fuel his rant. “It’s not Cas’ fault for freaking out. Plenty of guys get drafted and get rich or whatever and they end up changing. They fuck around. And I know you’d stay true to your man-wife, Dean, but maybe Cas needed to hear it from you.” 

The words swim around and around in his head, and when they all click Dean stares blankly at the ceiling, because Benny was right: he’s an idiot.

“Yeah,” Benny rolls his eyes. “What does he even see in you, man? You’re a moron.” 

“Easy,” Dean snaps at him, but it’s properly chagrined. “Thanks for the advice.” 

“It ain’t _advice_ , it’s a life fucking lesson,” Benny grins good-naturedly. “But you’re welcome. Don’t make me help you with the flowers too. My work ends here. You’re on your own.” 

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

The eighteenth of May is a gorgeous spring day that keeps its warmth into early evening. The gallery is bright and buzzing with energy that Cas feels on his skin like constant static. 

He’s been a bundle of nerves since 4 pm, so much that Anna, another senior, snuck him some champagne to help him calm down. “You’re gonna be great,” she patted his arm. “Everyone’s loved your work since you showed it to us.” 

“Thanks,” he turned a shade pinker. “Guess it’s just sinking in. The last hurrah.” 

“Crazy, right?” she agreed with a laugh, gazing around the room at the other students. “I’m excited for the turnout,” she commented. “Oh, are your teammates coming? In suits, I hope?” 

Castiel laughed despite the pang in his chest. “Nah, it’s our formal. They’re going to be busy.” Anna hummed thoughtfully but didn’t press, and Cas soon occupied himself with helping the staff set out the programs. 

Now, two hours later, Cas is dressed in a suit that’s neatly pressed, the collars crisp from a trip to the drycleaner’s and making up for the fact he’s missing a tie. He loses the drink when the guests file in and smoothes his hands down the front of his suit. He’s feeling far more relaxed and offers a smile to the first pair of students who approach him with questions. 

An hour passes by in a blur, and Cas has a constant audience. He didn’t expect this level of response to his work, let alone for all of it to be so positive. He’s always felt like painting made him feel just as free as skating on the ice; that’s why he loves it. And it dawns on him tonight that sharing his art opens his spirit up to breathe in similar ways. 

“Do you think you’ll play after college?” someone asks. 

Cas smiles wistfully, head bent in thought. “I’ll always enjoy it,” he thinks of the movement, the heart-pounding speed and the air on his face. “I think any hockey player who’s played for a while will feel a natural pull to get on the ice.” 

“I always think of injuries when it comes to hockey, never really the lines or physics of it.” 

“I think that’s what inspired me to take on this project, to look at what I knew from a different perspective. Hockey’s definitely rough and even violent sometimes, but if you watch the plays and pay attention to each motion, they’re really intricate and beautiful.” 

His audience nods and sips their drinks as they turn their gaze past him to his set of paintings. Seeing them makes Cas realize how parched he is, and he’s about to excuse himself when- 

“I have a question.” 

Castiel freezes. 

The few up front step aside for the asker, and then it’s Dean, standing at the center, wearing a suit and carrying flowers. They’re soft pink peonies, full and fragrant, and Cas can only stare and say, “Sure, um, go ahead.” 

“I’m just curious about the model,” Dean quirks his mouth in a cheeky smile. “I couldn’t help but notice the jersey number. Is he like a muse or…?” 

Cas blushes red. 

“He’s…” Cas clears his throat. God, he really needs a bottle of water. “He’s the captain, of… of our team. Number sixty-seven. He’s a great player.”

“Cool.” Dean looks so handsome. “He’s a pretty lucky guy to be painted by you.” Thankfully, the vibe goes unnoticed by the group, but even if it doesn’t, Cas couldn’t care less. 

When the audience dissipates, leaving them alone, Dean hands him a water and the bouquet, the latter with a sheepish expression on his face. “Congratulations,” he sounds reverent. “The paintings are beautiful, Cas. Really.” He takes another look over Cas’ shoulder, hands folded behind his back. “You’re insanely talented.” 

“Thanks,” Cas ducks his head, still wholly stunned by Dean’s appearance.

“You know, um…” Dean huffs out a laugh, its sound more self-deprecating than Cas has ever heard it. “I thought of what I’d say when I saw you here. I ran through it in my head a million times, and now that it’s… finally happening, all I can say is, I’m so sorry.” 

“What do you mean?” Cas glances up. “Dean, you don’t need to be sorry-” 

“Yes, I do. I wasn’t paying attention, I just thought- You were this amazing person in my life, making it better every day, and I was so fucking happy that I didn’t notice the things _you_ were missing. Things you needed.” Dean takes a big breath and he’s never this nervous, and Cas is helplessly charmed by it. “I should’ve told you, loud and clear, that you’re _it_ , Cas. You’re it for me. No matter where I end up, it’ll always be you, and I’m sorry I made you feel like I’d want anything else. Because I don’t.” 

“Dean,” Cas feels his heart stutter, the sounds of the gallery melting away. The background music, the mingled chatter – it took a backseat to what Dean was telling him. 

“I know it’s scary,” Dean presses closer. “I think of next month and it’s all these what-ifs and I’m pretty terrified by how much I don’t know. But I do know I love you,” Dean says softly, “I love so much I can’t breathe sometimes. And I want us to be together, Cas… because I can’t picture it any other way.” 

Cas clutches the flowers and wonders for a second if this is all _real_ , this entire moment. This Dean, _his_ Dean, standing here, baring his soul for Cas to hold. “I can’t either,” he breathes so quietly that Dean seems to doubt that he’s heard him right. So, he says it again, louder this time. “I want us to be together. I want that so much.”

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

The intellectual part of Cas knows that they can’t start kissing at the gallery show, and with another hour left in his presentation, they have to hold back till Cas is free to leave. Of course, this doesn’t stop Dean from lingering, standing off to the side looking fond and enamored, and when Anna passes by them toward the end, she catches his eye and mouths, ‘Get it, Cas.’ 

They nearly tumble out of the art center, too poorly coordinated for a couple of athletes and impossibly giddy for being sober. They stop every few feet to laugh and kiss, just breathless presses of his mouth on Dean’s. It’s probably the least productive way to walk, and so terribly distracting that Cas doesn’t notice the hockey arena looming ahead. 

“Wait,” he pulls back a little, just enough to see Dean’s face. “Weren’t we going to your room?” He blinks, then adds, “Or mine?” Dean simply laughs and kisses his cheek. 

“Can’t miss out on formal,” he says, sounding pleased, leading Cas toward the building with a hand on his waist. Castiel just stares, sort of disbelieving, at the light turning green with tap of Dean’s card. “I pulled in some favors,” Dean says with a shrug, which raises about a thousand, valid questions that Cas shoves away to the back of his mind. 

“You’re being _so_ suspicious right now,” he says, even as he takes Dean’s offered hand. But not even his teasing or wary expression seem to dampen Dean’s evident cheerfulness. 

“I know,” he says without a care, tugging Cas down the familiar hallway. “You’ll have to thank the guys. They helped a lot,” he grins as he pushes the rink doors open. 

Whatever surprise Castiel expected is blown away when they head inside, with the entire rink empty save for a spotlight, and romantic white strobe lights spinning on the ice. Their effect is magical and Cas is speechless, feeling like he’s stepped into a wonderland, until an Ed Sheeran song flows out through the speakers and Dean says “Come on” with a tender smile. 

The ice is covered just enough for them to walk, and it feels a little strange not to be on skates or wearing their hockey gear instead of suits. But it’s so, so easy to fall into Dean’s arms, to let himself be held as they sway together like they’re the only two people in the world. Dean’s voice is a low, beautiful thing against his ear, singing the lines just for Cas to hear. “Baby now, take me into your loving arms. Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars. Place your head on my beating heart. Thinking out loud… Maybe we found love right where we are.” 

“I can’t believe you did all this,” Cas whispers in awe when the song begins to fade. 

Dean smiles, tucking a finger beneath Cas’ chin. “I wanted to.” He keeps one hand on the side of Cas’ waist and carefully leans in, so Cas can be kissed. It’s sweet and unhurried – sort of perfect, really – and a slow, pleased flush heats the back of his neck. 

“Hey, lovebirds!” Benny croons through the speakers. “Can we play some explicit rap now, or are you not done being gross?” 

Cas tries to find the source of Benny’s voice and tracks him to the sound booth at the back of the stands. He laughs and waves then laughs even harder when more teammates pop out to fight for the mic. 

“How do you feel about Britney? Maybe ‘Slave 4 U’-” 

“No, I think it’s time for the Electric Slide-” 

“Can we just play the ‘Wedding March’ and get this over with. Show some love for my bro, Felix Mendelssohn.” 

“Why the _fuck_ do you know who wrote the ‘Wedding March.’” 

“It’s called _culture_ , man. I suggest you get some.” 

Their bickering is booming throughout the rink and Cas finds it impossible to contain his laughter. He buries his face in the crook of Dean’s neck and grins at the kisses Dean drops in his hair. 

“Aw, shit, they’re being revolting!”

“You can’t have sex in here, heathens! We _play_ here!” 

Dean laughs without moving an inch, except to lift an arm and flip them all off. “C’mon, Cas, let’s go kiss in front of them.”

Well, how could Cas refuse a plan like that.

**Author's Note:**

> [Rebloggable link here](http://puppycastiel.tumblr.com/post/166195865360/deancas-its-gotta-be-you) (please share if you enjoyed the fic!)
> 
> Thanks for reading as always, and do leave me kudos, comments, and love! :)


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